


yellow ledbetter

by traveller



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-18
Updated: 2005-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>It's cold in the mornings now, and the salty damp of the early tide-change seeps in through the screens.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	yellow ledbetter

It's cold in the mornings now, and the salty damp of the early tide-change seeps in through the screens. Orlando burrows deep below the layers of down and sateen, and lets his breath warm the tiny hollow space between the edge of the duvet and his cheek on the pillow. He can hear the creak of a floorboard, the slam of the screen door. A wind chime, hung by some long-gone holiday maker, rings like a harbour bell in the breeze.

When he peeks out, his nose twitches with the cold; his eyelids flutter as he tries to focus in the golden light. Viggo says it's the salt in the air that makes everything look all shimmery and oversaturated, like the Polaroids his mum used to take when they were at the shore. The screen door slams again, there is the scratchy sound of sandy feet trying to walk quietly. The shower runs, the pipes howling, then shuts off with a thud.

The window pane mists with Orlando's breath, then fades. Viggo hums something tuneless and lulling. The waves disappear, reappear again, as Orlando tries to decide between waking and sleeping. Viggo settles, a warm weight with cold feet and wet hair. Orlando pulls away, and is pulled back.

"How y'feeling?"

"I'm sleeping, go away."

An amused noise, a puff of hot breath on the back of Orlando's neck. "You okay?"

"I am. I will be. Close enough."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

He feels rough hands and wet mouth and the hot press of Viggo's cock, he smells warm skin and briney sea and the dirty sheets. He moves with Viggo, under Viggo; the waves disappear, reappear again, again, again. Again.

 _Again._

It's cold in the mornings now, and the salty damp of the early tide-change seeps in through the screens. Orlando pulls the zip on his suitcase closed, a metallic, final noise; he can see the cab outside, its paint overbright in the sun. He can hear the creak of a floorboard, the slam of the screen door. A wind chime, hung by some long-gone holiday maker, rings like a harbour bell in the breeze.

He stops on the porch, picks up the letter that sits on the step; he folds it into thirds, and puts in his pocket to read later, again.


End file.
